


The Doctor and the Blogger

by AmphigoricSymphony, DemonicSymphony



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Detox, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Doctor John, Doctor John Watson, Doctor/Patient, Dom/sub, Drug Addiction, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John is a Very Good Doctor, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Past Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock's Violin, mentions of past non-con pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmphigoricSymphony/pseuds/AmphigoricSymphony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes tests the quality of street drugs in London and blogs about it. John Watson is a doctor at the only facility Mycroft hasn't put Sherlock through yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're around! We've been trying out several projects... there are several completed stories going through edits at the moment.
> 
> As always, you can find us on tumblr at [AmphigoricSymphony](http://amphigoricsymphony.tumblr.com/)

Sherlock scowled as he tapped away on his laptop. Mycroft would find him soon enough, his time was limited. He glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. _Estimated ten minutes or less_. A careful perusal of his latest blog post on the quality of recent drugs on the market and his hints to Scotland Yard about where to pick up the worst dealers revealed no further errors and he hit post.

Across London, Greg Lestrade’s mobile sounded with a chime that meant only one thing. He shook his head and peered at it before calling Mycroft. “It’s him… yeah. Well, I’m not sure yet…” He paused as he listened. “Are you sure about this, Mycroft?” With a small sigh, Greg rang off and waited for a few minutes before calling Sherlock.

When his phone rang with Lestrade’s number, Sherlock hesitated, but he was hungry and he’d been avoiding Mycroft for close to a month this time. He spent the last of his cash on the coffee so he could upload his latest work and the way he was shaking was proof that he was crashing.

“What do you want?”

“I just figured you were hungry… Come by Angelo’s? My treat…” Greg answered as he headed to his car.

Sherlock weighed his options. Mycroft would likely leave him be if Greg were feeding him. He licked his lips as he packed up his laptop. “I’ll meet you there.” Without another word, he hung up on Greg, sneaking out the back, lest Mycroft have someone waiting to scoop him up outside.

Thirty minutes later found Greg and Sherlock in a booth at the back, Sherlock’s shaking form hidden from sight as he ravenously ate everything set in front of him. Greg winced, wondering how much he’d vomit later. He didn’t attempt to speak to Sherlock about anything beyond how he was feeling, or if he’d learned anything of interest lately. Sherlock snorted and told him to watch the bloody blog and do his job.

When dinner was over and Greg tried to pay, Angelo refused his money, still thankful for Greg’s intervention during a robbery. Greg led Sherlock out the front door, offering to take him home. By the time he realized he was in the back of a sedan with Mycroft, it was too late. Sherlock yelled and tried to escape, but the doors would not open. Greg winced at the look of betrayal in his eyes as the driver pulled away, heading to the one treatment center they had not tried.

Sherlock glared at Mycroft for the entire ride.

“I hate you.” He murmured as the orderlies came to get him.

Mycroft sighed and followed them in, doing Sherlock’s intake paperwork, grateful, once more, that he held guardianship over him. 

John was pulling on gloves as he followed the lead psychiatrist into patient intake, there because the call had indicated an addict in the early stages of withdrawal. He entered the room but held back while Dr. Floyd began to speak with Sherlock. While Floyd spoke, John took in how underweight Sherlock was and the way his dark curls fell limp and greasy over his head. 

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes. My name is Dr. Floyd and I'm here to help you in this transition. You look very uncomfortable, can you please tell me when you last used?"

"Fuck off. I'm not speaking to you. If my _brother_ didn't have some ridiculous manner of legal guardianship over me you couldn't even keep me here. I'll escape just like I have everywhere else, so why don't you save us all the trouble?" Sherlock snapped as he glared at them. "I want my bag, I want my bloody laptop, and I want to walk out the front door."

He bared his teeth and rolled his eyes before slumping back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm here against my will. What is that pretty little thing you lot tout about us having to want help?"

John cleared his throat and stepped forward, "Alright, we'll say goodbye to Dr. Floyd for now." He gave the doctor a glance and both men gave a nod, before John was left Sherlock and a nurse. He moved closer, setting his cane aside as he sat down on the little stool at Sherlock's side. 

"I get that you don't want to be here. I'm not a head doctor, just a proper physician. You likely aren't getting out of here tonight, so how about you tell me what you are on, and I'll help with this," he nodded to Sherlock's trembling hands. "Withdrawal is miserable. I can help you." 

"Why are you helping me?" Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself. "It doesn't matter. You won't give me enough. I'll still be miserable." He shivered and shook his head. He licked his lips, refusing to look at John.

"Testing heroin this time." He admitted after a few minutes.

"Testing," John repeated as he scratched something down in Sherlock's chart, "that's an interesting way to put it. And now that you are admittedly miserable, how about you tell me which is the worse? Nausea or the headache?"

"Yes, _testing_. Hasn't that pompous idiot who brought me in shown you anything?" Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh. "No, of course he hasn't because he doesn't see what I do as a service to anyone. Never mind the fact that I've found and tipped the police off to- it doesn't matter. My head is worse..."

Sherlock paused looking thoughtful for a moment and turned, promptly vomiting into the bin by his chair.

Seeing that his patient had somewhere acceptable to sick up, John got the supplies for a line going, taking Sherlock's distraction to his advantage and swiftly threading the needle into the back of Sherlock's hand during a pause in the vomiting. He taped it down well and began pushing meds for the nausea, nodding at the nurse to dim the lights down. He'd look the man over once he was more comfortable. 

"Something for pain now, just relax for me if you can," he added, giving a large dose of non-narcotic medication for Sherlock's head. 

When the medicine hit, Sherlock groaned softly and closed his eyes. "I'll be out of here tomorrow... I won't stay. I won't." His face was still pinched as he stayed in the chair. "Let me go." He wiped at the sweat on his brow and looked up to John. When the nurse came and wiped his face, he allowed it, still half glaring at John.

"I don't want help. I want to do my experiments."

John shoved a thermometer in Sherlock's ear, humming as it read his temperature. "I'm not the head doc. I know you don't want help, and that you don't want to stay. I'm purely medical here, Sherlock. I'm going to make you comfortable, and you can sleep this off, and then you'll be clear enough in your mind to execute your plan of escape." 

He took the thermometer away and looked to Sherlock again, "Go on then, what do you mean by 'experiments?' 

"I test the quality of drugs on the streets of London. I've an entire blog devoted to it. Honestly... Mycroft's usually chomping at the bit to show it. 'Look at the breadth of little brother's problems' and such." Sherlock made a frustrated noise. "Two months ago it was cocaine. I cycle through them. Always looking to get the worst of it off the streets. No reason for the bad to be out there. I meticulously test it before I use it. Then anything safe to use, well, I rate it." He grinned at that.

John arched a brow and sat up, moving over to add another medication to Sherlock's line. "This will help with sweating and the shakes. Listen, mate, I can see that you've a sizable brain up in there, but this is… insane. You're an addict, no matter if you put data to it or not, and you look at least a stone underweight. You've not been sleeping, and I'm guessing your labs will come back a complete mess. You look a bit jaundiced, even. I'm not the guy who keeps you here, you don't have to convince me of anything, I'm just telling you as a doctor, this is what kills you if you keep it up." 

Scowling, Sherlock watched him before snapping, "Not trying to convince you of anything. You asked, I provided an answer." He glared at the nurse, but took the little mouth cleaning sponge from her and then rinsed his mouth. "Sleep is boring."

"It's not flying, if that's what you mean," John said as he began to clean up the area. "Alright, so you know the drill. You've got to be checked over for contraband. I can do it, or we can wait and let the orderlies. Totally up to you, mate."

With a put upon sigh, Sherlock stood, weak kneed though he was and started stripping. He smirked as he deftly unhooked his IV, slipped out of his shirt, and hooked it back up again. With a brow arched as he stood naked in front of John and the nurse, Sherlock drawled. "Satisfied, Doc-tor?"

The nurse sighed as she pulled down a set of standard issue pyjamas for Sherlock and set them on the table.

John stood up and lifted Sherlock's arms, and walked around his back. "Yep," he said then, patting the chair Sherlock had been reclining in. "Sit before you fall, throw on those scrubs, and let's get you somewhere to sleep this off."

Sherlock pulled on the scrubs, using the chair to support himself. The nurse brought in a wheelchair and Sherlock looked as though he were going to object before his shoulders slumped and he moved into it. "Fine." He spat. "But I'm escaping tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will be grand," John said without looking up as he jotted notes in Sherlock’s chart. "If you need something to help you sleep, have them call for me." 

With that, Sherlock was moved down the hall as John got up to go question the surprisingly posh brother in the lobby. "Mr. Holmes? Would you step into my office for a moment to answer some questions?"

Mycroft stood, smoothing down his suit as he nodded. "Certainly." He followed John to his office, settling in on the edge of a chair across from John's desk.

"Although I am certain you are used to the language of addicts, I'll apologize in advance for my brother."

John held up his hand and shook his head, "No need, no need. Does he have any other medical conditions I should know about?"

"He's had problems with migraines in the past. I am afraid I am unsure as to the status of them at the moment. He's had no major illnesses or health problems outside of those though. No disorders, diseases or anything of the sort... At least not as of his last screening. He- despite his status as an addict has always been meticulous about using clean equipment 'for the sake of his experiments' he says... but he is tested as frequently as I can manage it." Mycroft answered the question with the air of having done it many times before.

"He's lucky to have you. Far more fortunate than most of the people here. I've got him comfortable, you've done him a favor though he won't thank you for it. Perhaps we can get him a new hobby while he's here. This one has to go. I'm doing a full workup, he appears ill, but his vitals are fine and he's not in any critical state at the moment. We'll sort him."

Mycroft sighed, "I could not agree with you more, Doctor. I am afraid he bores easily. He seems to think his help in taking the worst of the dealers off the street outweighs the damage he his doing to himself. Thank you. The staff has all of my contact information should you need me for anything."

John nodded to Mycroft as he shook his hand. "We'll get him cleaned up, feel free to call any time, I live on campus mostly so I'll always be here."

Mycroft gave a tight smile. "Thank you Doctor Watson. I'll be in touch. I don't, as a habit, visit. It impedes Sherlock's progress most of the time. But I am always reachable by the number I have left." There was a sharp bob of his head as he let himself out.

Elsewhere Sherlock drifted in and out, cursing Mycroft whenever he came to.

John made his way back to their newest patient at half two in the morning. The nurses calling him in for some palliative care. Sherlock was soaked through with sweat and restless.

"Mr. Holmes," John called out quietly as he turned on a dim bedside light.

Sherlock groaned and glared at John. "What? What could you possibly want at this time of morning? Go home, leave me alone... or give me enough to get out of this bloody place!"

John set his kit down. "You look miserable, I'm here to get you comfortable. Can you sit up?"

There was a moment where Sherlock looked like he would refuse... but he sat up with a small whimper. "It's worse this time." The confession was soft, a vulnerable tone to his words.  
John helped him up with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "That's alright, we can handle it. This on your tongue.” He offered a tablet to Sherlock as he reached for a towel. "Once that's dissolved I want you to tell me how your pain is."

Without fuss, Sherlock took the tablet, letting it dissolve. He closed his eyes as he took stock of his body. "I just ache. It's not- There isn't anything solid."

John nodded as he listened to Sherlock's chest. "Yeah that's about what it's like." He stepped back and handed Sherlock two more tablets, "one for pain, the other for those nerves."

Sherlock took the pills, swearing in French at how his hands shook. When he'd set the water aside, he wrapped his arms around his legs. "It's boring here."

"Incentive not to come back," John quipped as he draped the towel over the man's shoulders. "Let's get you washed and into dry things."

"Oh, I haven't heard something like that before." Sherlock scowled at John but got to his feet. "Fine, but only because that bloody bed is soaked." His mouth twitched and he watched him. "Bit different from combat medicine."

John stopped up short, turning to look up at Sherlock. "I'm sorry, what?"

"This- this is different than combat medicine. Why come to this?" Sherlock looked at him blinking as though it were a simple question.

John leaned on his cane, fingers individually adjusting their grip. He licked his lip and have a tight smile. "Who said a thing about combat medicine?"

"You did... rather, your body did." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake... no one actually looks at anyone else." He nodded. "Your stance, your hair... the tones you use. It's all there."

John shifted drawing himself up, posture defensive. "What's all there?" he demanded, looking up at Sherlock with suspicion.

Sherlock looked taken aback. He made a small huffing noise. "I can see that you were a field doctor. The way you still cut your hair, the way you hold yourself, the way you speak to me." Sherlock appeared to flounder for a moment. "I didn't mean to offend you," he finally offered.

John cleared his throat, shaking his head. "It's fine… come on, let's get you cleaned up." He had no idea how to respond to any of this.

The exchange left Sherlock withdrawing from everything. He did not speak as they got him in the shower. Sherlock scrubbed himself clean, sitting on the stool. By the time it was over, he was moving in slow, stilted ways. He dried himself with John's help and stood there, looking lost after dressing.

"Listen, Sherlock… can I call you Sherlock? That just took me by surprise. You've not done anything wrong." He patted Sherlock gently on the back, "let's get you to bed."

Sherlock looked at John and furrowed his brow. He allowed John to guide him back to bed, the sheets fresh. When he was settled again he looked up. "I get bored, watch people, actually observe..."

John smiled at him as he wrote in Sherlock's chart. "Yeah I can see that," he answered with a smile. "Alright, I'll be back in a few hours to check on you. Get some rest."

"Okay..." Sherlock buried himself under the sheets, only the top of his head visible. His breathing was loud to his ears as he tried to put his mind to getting out. Soon enough his breathing evened out and he fell asleep, hands curled in the sheet.

John made his rounds the next day as usual, making his way back to Sherlock near ten in the morning. He’d heard from the nurses how he was both too smart for his own good, and impossibly abrasive.

John walked into the room, minutes after Dr. Floyd left.

"Oh, look, it's the one with the brain. Half a brain anyhow. Part of a brain... more than any of the rest of the idiots here have anyhow." Sherlock scowled toward the door. "I want them all banned from my room."

John set his bag down near Sherlock and offered him two tablets, "For your nerves, Sherlock. Stop you clenching your jaw like that as well. Besides hating the world, how are you doing physically? Eating? Using the toilet?"

"I'm fine! I want to go home. I hate this place. I'm surrounded by idiots and it's _boring_. How do you stand this?" Sherlock snatched the tablets up, taking them before wrapping his arms around his knees. "Let me go."

John put his hands up, "Not my call, he repeated, shaking his head. "Could get you access to a computer if Floyd agrees. Want to go have a walk? If you promise not to attack me, I can get them to let us in the courtyard."

Sherlock glared at him. "I'm not an idiot. You'd have me on the ground with that cane before I could do anything." He looked put out as he pulled on the hard soled slippers beside his bed. "I would like to go outside. I am going mad."

John hid his smirk, a bit proud at the fact that at least someone recognized that he could still be dangerous if needed. He nodded and picked up his mobile, speaking swiftly to Floyd. 

"Yeah, I know, he's fine I'm just going to get him some air." He rolled his eyes and hung up the line. "Not a wise play to threaten the man who holds the keys here, Sherlock." 

An innocent look came over Sherlock's face. "I'm detoxing. Surely the head psychiatrist wouldn't take an addict's threats entirely seriously. Look, I'm shaking." He held up a hand that was, indeed trembling. 

Sherlock raised both eyebrows. "Of course, if my meddling brother told him how I broke out of the restraints, knocked out the last orderly who tried to corner me, and scaled the fence... Floyd might have taken my threat a bit more seriously." He shrugged. "I'm too tired for that nonsense this morning. You have my word."

"Lovely," John murmured as he nodded toward the door. They walked quietly through the common area where a group session was taking place. Somehow John did not believe that group would in any way help Sherlock, or Sherlock help it. They passed through the magnetic doors and were soon out in the yard. The day was overcast and cool, but October had not yet bit hard into the temperature yet. He allowed Sherlock to set the pace. 

Sherlock strolled, there was no other descriptor apt for what he was doing. He happily moved through the air, taking his time to look about the courtyard, setting it to memory with care. "How long have you been here?"

John looked up at the sky as he thought about it. "Few months now," he answered leaving it vague. He leaned harder on his cane. "How long have you been an addict?" 

"I have been testing and experimenting with various drugs out of boredom for approximately two years now. Since I graduated." Sherlock shrugged. "Mycroft wanted me to find a job within MI6." He wrinkled his nose. "Droll."

"Droll. Yes. That's exactly how I'd describe work for MI6," he responded with an over serious tone, lip quirking up at the absurdity of the suggestion. "Rolling through street drugs must be so much more fascinating." He looked back up at the sky, trying to imagine this man in Uni. "What did you study?"

"Really, Doctor Watson. I've told you that I meticulously study the contents of the drugs before I take them..." Sherlock looked over at him and shook his head. "Chemistry." He paused and held out his hand. "I suppose you could call me doctor... if you wanted, but Doctor Sherlock Holmes is such a mouthful I just don't bother. Sherlock suffices."

John shook his hand before carrying on walking them through the garden. "So you've a PhD in chemistry, the chance to work for MI6, and this is where you choose to practice. The most interesting addict cover I've ever encountered, so bravo for that. What started it off? Cocaine to get you through your thesis?" 

Sherlock looked offended. "Nothing so pedestrian. Thank you." He huffed as he ducked a tree branch. "I started by analyzing a sample of my roommate’s cocaine after he was hospitalized." A small hum escaped him. "Soon people were bringing me samples all the time. When they couldn't pay me for the work, they offered me a bit of their product."

John huffed a laugh and shook his head. "Yeah, that's still pedestrian I'm afraid. A bit less orthodox, but it makes you behave the same as all the others that roll in here." 

"I saved his life." Sherlock turned on his heel. "And several others along the way. Thank you." He strode for the courtyard doors, muttering in French, agitated and wringing his hands.

_Sensitive_ , John thought with a bit of amusement. He turned and followed Sherlock as well, keeping up as best he could. If Sherlock wanted to be alone, John wasn't going to fight him. Nor was he going to allow Sherlock to pretend as though his addiction was anything other than that: addiction. 

Sherlock spun on John, ranting at him in French. Frustration laced his words as he paced the courtyard gesticulating.

"Oh. Alright," John murmured as he leaned on his cane and stood there, allowing Sherlock the freedom to roam in an area that he could see the sky, and rant to his heart's content. 

It took ten minutes for him to tire himself out, his words coming slower and slower until he sat down on a bench looking dejected. Sherlock folded his arms across his chest. "I don't understand why he won't just leave me to my life. He did it before... Now he just meddles."

John cracked a partial smile and shook his head. "You're lucky he doesn't. Unless what you're saying is that you wish he'd just leave off and let you die." He left the line of that particular communication open, finding that possibility to be of high potential. "Have you paid attention to the other folks in these places? You say you observe, I wonder if you recognize how rare it is to have anyone waiting for you on the other side of this?"

Sherlock stared at John. "He did leave me. He left me and I didn't have anyone who understood me." He wrapped up in his dressing gown. "I want to go inside now."

Seeing as to how he had no idea what Sherlock was on about, John nodded and used his card to open the doors, holding them for Sherlock to go through. He was quiet as he walked the odd man back to his room, hanging back at the door. "Think you could eat something?"

"I'm not hungry. I want to go to sleep." Sherlock curled up on the bed, staring up the wall, withdrawing refusing to look at John. "I don't want anyone in here, I don't want any medicine. I want to be left alone."

"Right. Get some rest then, Sherlock. I'll come back round to check on you in a bit." He closed the door quietly behind him, mentioning to the nurses to keep an ear at his door frequently, and then continued on his way for the time to catch up on charting and the odd patient who needed something from him out of turn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the new tag. This chapter references abuse at the hands of someone else in Sherlock's past. It is NON graphic and relatively brief.

Sherlock sneaked out in the early morning hours. The orderly was taking his break when Sherlock snagged his key card. By the time he got to the courtyard doors, he was shaking and stumbling. He held the exact spot where he needed to go over the wall in his mind. Sherlock swiped the card and pushed.

John was on the far side of the courtyard, soaked in sweat and on the grass, panting up at the sky as faded grey began to blot out the stars. He'd done as much of his physical regimen as was possible for him now, and perhaps pushed a bit too hard at his leg. One hand clamped over the muscle, he was surprised to hear the undeniable click of the doors opening. 

"What tha-" John mumbled, his breath fogging in thin clouds around his head as he stared at the staggering man. It took him another five seconds to realize it was bloody _Sherlock_. "For the fucking love-" 

He pushed himself up, leaning hard on his cane as he watched Sherlock begin to scale the wall. Though his gait was off, he was very quiet. Just as Sherlock reached the top of the wall, John hooked Sherlock’s shoulder with the handle of his cane, applying gentle downward pressure.

"Morning." 

A long stream of French curses sounded and Sherlock looked over his shoulder for a moment before dropping down. He leaned against the wall, panting. "Should- should have left earlier." His jaw tightened as he glared at John. "I have money... Some- I have to get to it... but I have some, let me go. You could say you couldn't get to me. They'd believe it." Sherlock glared at John. _Doctor Watson is rapidly becoming a bloody problem_.

John winked at him and shook his head, motioning for Sherlock to follow him away from the doors Sherlock came through and toward a set in the back. "No, don't think so Sherlock. Let's see if you can even make it across this yard without collapsing." He leaned on his cane, but his shoulders were squared and he was in high spirits, "come on then, unless you'd rather I call the team that tackles you to the floor and jabs your arse. No judgement, people like what they like." 

"Oh, he's a bloody comedian too. Just what I need." Sherlock grumbled but followed, shoulders slumped. "Of course I have the only doctor who believes in getting up before dawn is properly... dawning." He shook his head, wrapping tighter in his dressing gown. "Cannot believe you're out here. Should have seen that."

"Probably would have if you weren't flushing poison out of your system," John called over his shoulder, intentionally cheery. He led Sherlock back to the area where his rooms were, not that they could even quite be called a flat. "Proper shower, proper tea, and a meal without plastic forks. Then, you are going to sit down and talk to me like a normal bloke, or as close to one as you can get."

Sherlock scowled at John but allowed him to take him inside. "Since you are the only one in this place who can carry on anything akin to an intelligent conversation, I don't suppose I will object..."

John stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face Sherlock. "You are welcome to return to your room. Technically I'm not supposed to bring you back here, but I think Floyd's going to tank with you and I think you're too ruddy smart for this rubbish. So, is it 'Please Dr. Watson, might I join you?" or "Please Dr. Watson, I'd like to return to my room now?" John leaned on the handle of his cane, leaning in fractionally, his lips pinched in a tight, minimally upturned smile. 

Oh, that was _interesting_. No one else was remotely interesting. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he watched John for a moment and tilted his head. With a slight nod of acknowledgement to the play, Sherlock spoke, voice soft. "Please, Dr. Watson, might I join you?"

John held the same tight smile as he gave on sharp nod of his head, turning on heel and heading to his quarters. "Why yes, of course. There's a good man." 

He led them into a room with a small kitchenette, a circular dining table, two overstuffed sitting chairs, and a door off to the side that led to the bedsit and bathroom. It was otherwise devoid of any personal photos or trinkets, save his mug, adorned with his unit's crest, which sat by the small coffee pot. "Through there, have a shower. Your scrubs are clean enough," Sherlock hadn't gotten very far into his escape, "and leave whatever chap's badge you pinched on the counter." 

Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. He took his time, scrubbing up well. When he came out, he left the badge where John could see it. He settled his shirt and dressing gown over one of the chairs as he ruffled his hair with a towel. John was far more interesting than he'd first appeared, and he'd caught Sherlock's attention to start with. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he took John in.

"Sit there," John said over his shoulder, gesturing with the spatula in his hand to the little table. One spot had a cuppa with three pills lined up in front, "take those." He carried on scrambling the eggs, not bothering to turn and see if Sherlock had done as he asked.

A small look of shock passed over Sherlock's face. He sat at the table and looked at the pills. His fingers trailed over them before he found himself taking them with the tea. John's orders, and that's what they were, were easy to follow. Sherlock wasn't at all sure he liked it.

Soon enough John was sliding a plate of eggs, sausages, and tomatoes to Sherlock, sitting down with the same for himself. Immediately he tucked into his food, obviously accustomed to eating without company more often than not. "If you get all that down, I'll give you a cigarette." 

Sherlock watched John, his brow furrowed before tucking into his food. He took it slow, wondering if his stomach would hold up to it. After a few bites, he realized he was starving and tucked in properly. Sherlock didn't speak as he ate, concentrating on the food and trying to sort John Watson out in his mind.

John was leaned back, plate empty and napkin folded over it, sipping at his coffee as he watched Sherlock eat for a few moments. He redirected his focus out the window, allowing an easy silence to settle over them both until Sherlock was done. 

When he finished, Sherlock pushed the plate back and fidgeted before murmuring. "Thank you." He chewed on his bottom lip as he picked at the edge of the table.

John stood up, cleared the plates away, before he pulled a tin of hand-rolled cigarettes from a drawer. "This is the only one I'll ever give you, so enjoy it. These things'll kill you." He opened the window beside Sherlock and tucked it between his lips, lighting it with a match before handing it over to Sherlock. John exhaled a lungful of smoke as he watched Sherlock.

Sherlock took the cigarette, inhaling deeply, savoring the smoke. He startled at a stray thought and shook his head, blowing the smoke out the window. "Thank you, this tobacco is good."

"Picked it up in Mumbai," John said as he settled back in his chair to finish his coffee, watching Sherlock smoke. "Alright, so there are an abundance of options for you as a skilled chemist. What's with the street drugs then?"

A weary sigh left Sherlock as he exhaled another lungful of smoke. "Everything else is so tedious... It's all boring. So boring." He shook his head, drawing his legs to his bare chest. "My brain doesn't stop. Never stops... Sometimes the drugs slow it, let me rest, sometimes they make everything clearer, allow me to work for hours on end." His gaze moved to John. "But I'm never bored."

"Yes, god forbid boredom creep in. Your health decidedly should come second to how entertained you are," John drawled, overly serious. He dropped the tone, leaning forward, holding Sherlock's eye. "Your labs are abysmal, Sherlock. You're right on the edge of kidney and liver damage. Your heart is stressed. You're a stone underweight and you’re jaundiced. This has to stop, there has to be another way for you to find something interesting in life." 

He leaned back again and cleared his throat. "How about a round of chess?"

Sherlock flinched at John's words, tightening his grip on his legs as he finished the cigarette, letting it burn down as far as he could without burning himself. He stubbed it out in the tiny ashtray nearby. "I would be amenable to a game." Sherlock opened his mouth to say something else, but quieted again.

John was back with a small plastic chess set in just a few moments, leaving Sherlock to arrange the board while he poured himself another cup of coffee. "Imagine you're likely very good at this game," he said as he watched him.

"I'm adequate." Sherlock answered as he chose black, keeping himself balled up in the chair. "Where did you learn to play?"

John moved a pawn as he spoke, "Here and there, I'm not any good, really. Just against the lower enlisted, or those that don't play." He took a sip of his coffee and watched him. 

Sherlock moved as he spoke. "I- I haven't played in years... Mycroft taught me."

John slowly countered, looking up at Sherlock. "Close, but not any longer. Happens to siblings sometimes. Never makes it easy."

"He left me!" Sherlock snapped as he moved and then wrapped his arms around his legs again, pressing his face down. "It's not my fault. He left me."

John did not react to the outburst, other than to take a pawn with a rook, setting it aside. "Well, that sounds like it was a bloody awful time for you." 

Sherlock's jaw clenched and he shoved a knight into a dangerous place, not paying attention to the board. "It doesn't matter. I don't care. Neither do you."

John carried on as though they were still playing, "You should tell your brother he's rubbish at chess," he said as he took the knight. He then looked up at Sherlock, gesturing to how he was sitting. "And bollocks. You obviously care, and so do I. _Observe_ , remember?" 

"You're paid to 'care'." Sherlock snapped as he moved for the window. "Leave me alone." He peered outside and made to climb through the open window. "Thanks for the cigarette."

"Oi! Get your arse back in here and sit down. For god's sake, we don't have to discuss your brother, and if you'd rather leave you may do so _through the door_. You'll not get far without an escort, anyhow." He set aside the chess set with a sigh, getting to his feet. "Come on, I'll take you back to your room and you won’t see me outside of rounds."

Sherlock stared at him. "I don't want to go back to my bloody room! I don't want to be here! I don't want to suffer through this again. My brain is rotting. I am cooped up here staring at grey walls day in and day out and I can't take it! It's boring!"

John fanned his hand out around them. "I'm feeding you, giving you conversation, calming your symptoms with medication, and attempting a game of chess. Don't like chess? What do you like? I've a deck of cards." 

For a moment, Sherlock was torn between trying to run and settling back down, after some deliberation, he sat back down in his chair. "Mycroft is seven years older. He abandoned me for University and then his career was more important. Now he meddles because he feels some sort of stupid guilt and I'm sick of it... are you happy?"

"Moderately, but it varies by the day," John answered casually, sitting back down along with Sherlock. "I gave you something for nerves, but it was a light dose. Take another, it will steady out those hands and help with how much I'm managing to rile you up." He pushed another pill across the table, waiting to see if Sherlock would take it.

"Do you take anything seriously?" Sherlock snapped as he considered the pill. His jaw worked and after a moment he took it, swallowing it with the remainder of his tea. He was quiet for a minute before he shifted in his seat. "Why are you doing this?"

"As little as possible, mate," John answered, glad that Sherlock had taken the other pill. "And I've no idea why I'm doing this, to be frank. You're different than the others. Your brother might have left earlier but he cares, very much, if you are alright or not. You have a doctorate in chemistry, yet you came in like every other hooded junkie. There aren’t the typical reasons for why someone like yourself would be an addict. You're not mentally ill, except for perhaps some depression, but that's not driving you to do this. If you'd rather I not, say the word and I'll take you back to the ward."

"Don't take me back there..." Sherlock's voice turned plaintive, almost scared. "Please. It's terrible in there. I don't want to go back. Please. Don't. It's torture." He shook his head. "I hate these places. The only thing that's made this remotely better is... is this."

John gave him a single, easy nod. "Don't try to climb out my window again, and you can mill around here for as long as I can keep Floyd off my back." 

He tapped the chess board. "Go on, your move."

Sherlock fell silent, he put his mind to the chess and paid attention to the game. He pinched at his thigh now and again to clear his head.

John played casually for a few minutes in silence. He and Sherlock were not well matched, turned out Sherlock was a much more skilled player than he'd been letting on. 

John broke the silence. "Do you cut yourself?"

The question startled Sherlock and he knocked his bishop over before righting it in the place he had been moving it to. "I- what? No. I don't cut myself." He shook his head, frowning as he laced his fingers together.

John arched a brow at him as he made his next move. "What do you do for your pain fix?" 

"What makes you think I have a pain fix?" Sherlock scowled as he pushed a piece across the board, keeping his hand away from his thigh.

John shook his head and moved another pawn. "You can just tell me you'd rather not talk about it. No need to evade."

Sherlock huffed as he moved in a poor manner. "I get in fights sometimes... If I've run off someone again."

John let the game play out a few minutes more before again pulling Sherlock into conversation. "Do you eat when you're not high or actively starving?"

"When I remember to... Eating is boring." Sherlock shrugged. "It- it's hard to remember to. I had someone to remind me once..." He let out a small huff. "Doesn't matter."

John's mobile buzzed and he looked down at it with a frown. "Ach, sorry mate, can't get away with this any longer today. You've got to go take lunch and see Dr. Floyd. Play your hand right and you've a better chance of getting out of here faster. I'll come check on you in an hour or so." 

Sherlock wrung his hands together. He opened his mouth to beg before snapping it shut again. With a sharp nod he stood and pulled his shirt and dressing gown on. Sherlock looked dejected, the only thing between him and a full blow panic attack were the drugs John had given him.

John watched him with concern, putting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder once he'd dressed. "Hey… easy. You're a patient here, this is breaking every rule in the book, mate. You have to play the game, I'm afraid. You're one day into a three day mandatory hold, nearly there." He stepped back and looked Sherlock over, startled to see how unnerved he looked. "Was there something done to you before that you're worried about, or are you just really bored?"

"I- I don't like them in my head. They never understand." Sherlock shook his head. He leaned into the hand on his shoulder. "They don't understand, I-" A small tremor ran through him. "They try to fix me, I'm not broken. I'm not broken."

John's entire demeanor shifted as Sherlock began to honestly become distressed. John stood a little taller, sliding the arm at his shoulder across both of them. "Alright, alright, take it easy," he murmured, "I'll talk to Floyd, get you out of as much therapy as I can. Calm, Sherlock. Calm. All you need to do is communicate this. All you've got to do is have a rest after you eat your lunch." 

Sherlock calmed, taking slow breaths, leaning into John a fraction more. He nodded. "Alright. Okay. I'm okay." As he straightened, he cleared his throat. His voice got quieter. "Thank you." 

John got Sherlock back to his room, and settled a tray of food down beside him. He sat down in a chair across from Sherlock's bed, wanting to make sure he actually ate. Sherlock had a penchant for morose behavior. He hoped that having something of an ally in the room would help him get some food down.

With John nearby, Sherlock was able to eat about half his tray. He didn't give the nurse any trouble when she came in to check him over and give him his afternoon medicines. The room lapsed into silence when she left and Sherlock spoke. "The first time I was in a place like this, the therapist picked up on the pain thing..." He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I never told Mycroft."

John listened very quietly, unwilling to jump to conclusions. Calmly he asked, "Did this therapist take advantage of his position?"

Sherlock's jaw clenched. "There wasn't any sex... it-" He gave a small huff. "He brought a crop and a cane. Said it was part of my therapy, that it would help. It did... but it wasn't on my terms."

John's ability to remain calm was vastly tested then. He inhaled slowly and then let it out again. "Sherlock, nothing like that will happen here. That was a gross violation of your rights, and I'm sorry that happened to you. It should never, ever happen to a patient in such a vulnerable position. Dr. Floyd is safe, you have my word on that. You are safe, even if you are bored here." He shook his head and stood up, looking at the man. "I can give you something to help you sleep, let you get through the afternoon easier. Would you like that?" 

"Please." Sherlock's voice was raw as he pulled the covers up to his chin. "Thank you." He shifted in the bed, curling up in a ball. "I've never told anyone else. I- I just want to sleep now."

"You got it," John said calmly as he handed a pill to Sherlock with a glass of water. "I've got to see to my other patients, but I'll float back by. Do me a favor, Sherlock. Don't scale the wall, I'll worry about you and that's a piss-poor way to thank me for breakfast." 

Sherlock nodded after he'd taken the pill. "I won't, I promise." He murmured. His eyes closed as he buried himself under the covers, waiting for the pill to kick in.

John lingered until Sherlock was safe off to sleep. 

He talked to Floyd at length about Sherlock's treatment, set to seeing his other patients and the new intakes, and three hours later was on the line with Mycroft Holmes. 

Mycroft answered his phone after his assistant handed it off. "Dr. Watson, how may I be of service? Is Sherlock, alright? Has he escaped?"

John smiled at the immediate questions. "He's thought about it, but I changed his mind with a cigarette. Unorthodox, but it worked. Mr. Holmes, the reason I'm calling is to inform you of some extremely disturbing information Sherlock shared today. He was behaving with… fear, which seemed out of character for him. I know it's early on, but it was genuine and it concerned me. He informed me that a doctor at a prior facility, the first one he was in, took advantage of him. I'm hoping you will be able to help me sort out who it was, so that he can be formally charged."

"One moment, please." The sounds around Mycroft filtered away and soon there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. Mycroft cleared his throat. "Dr. Chalmbers committed suicide shortly after his clinic was closed."

John nodded, "Well, that solves that. I've asked that he not be included in group sessions, and that he and Dr. Floyd have sessions in a semi-public area to help him feel more secure. He ate a full meal at breakfast, and a partial lunch. He's had a stroll outside as well. The withdrawal is as easy as we can make it." 

"Sherlock is-" Mycroft paused, searching for the words. "Intelligent almost beyond compare, but he has trouble focusing it. He has long been on a path to self-destruction. Your interest and care is, unusual. Sherlock has never told anyone of his abuse at the hands of that man. I figured it out, he'd kept recorded sessions."

"John Hamish Watson. I will forward you all of my information, and you can run my history. I readily admit I'm more interested in his case than others. I cooked him breakfast this morning after catching him attempting to scale a wall. In my quarters. It was a choice between that and letting the orderlies sedate him and put him in restraints. I do hope you agree that my solution was the preferable. I am outraged that he was ever taken advantage of. I do not believe Sherlock will benefit from typical therapy, while admitting that I am not a therapist. Presently he's napping, but I would like to encourage you to come have a visit with him today." 

There was the sound of snapping fingers on the other end of the phone, a muffled 'clear my appointments', and Mycroft was back on the line. "I will be there shortly... Dr. Watson, I assure you, you've already been vetted, thoroughly. Thank you for stopping him and for feeding him. He is- prone to forgetting food. Sherlock has never been receptive to general or typical therapies. Thank you for recognizing it."

John nodded, "It's my job. He may be hostile with you when you see him, but I assure you, you've been the strongest point of conversation. Whatever has gone on in his mind regarding you, it would be helpful to smooth a bit of that out." 

"That may be beyond help... but I will try. See you soon, Dr. Watson." Mycroft rang off and readied himself to visit Sherlock. He stopped on the way for their favorite childhood candy, at a loss for what else to take.

John met with Dr. Floyd after getting off the line with Mycroft. He explained the situation, coming to an agreement with the psychiatrist before heading back to Sherlock's room. He sat down in the chair and waited to see if Sherlock would wake on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock came up in increments over the next thirty minutes. He was on his side, facing John when he opened his eyes. "You're here..." He murmured, surprised as he watched John, eyes still heavy.

John hummed and got up, sitting down next to Sherlock and taking his blood pressure. He followed by taking his temperature. "Shush… You've tugged at my interest, everyone else is boring," he said with a wink, keeping his voice very soft. He slipped the thermometer back out of his ear as it beeped. He was relieved to see Sherlock had a bit more color to his skin, though he was still shaking. 

"Pain? Nausea?" 

"Nausea, some aching." The corner of his mouth twitched at the tease about everyone else being boring. "I slept better than I have in a while though..." Sherlock was quiet for a moment before he questioned John, voice hesitant. "Are my labs that bad?"

John nodded, unwrapping the cuff and setting it aside. "I never exaggerate when it comes to a patient's medical condition. We are going to fix it, but you have to know how dangerous of a game you are playing. I know you are serious about your chemistry, but you're a user, and until you admit that to yourself," he shook his head, handing Sherlock a tablet to ease his stomach. "This road will come to an abrupt stop sooner than you think."

Sherlock took the tablet and twisted his fingers in the covers. "It didn't start that way. I used to have more control over it. Then I had to have it to focus my mind on anything."

John held up a hand, "Sherlock, there isn't any judgement here, alright? None. This is a place to get help. I know it's not gone well for you in the past, but this is different, okay? Now, can you get up? Moving around will help, it's a nice evening and I thought you could walk the courtyard with me again." 

"You said I had to admit it." Sherlock murmured. "That's me admitting I need it." He took a deep breath. "A walk would be nice."

John nodded, giving Sherlock an honest smile. "I know, well done. I was trying to keep it mellow for you. Let's have that walk." 

The evening was rather nice, and John was hopeful that the meeting of brothers out of doors would be less intimidating. He was having a particularly bad day with his leg, but he kept his limp in check and moved fluidly with Sherlock. 

When Sherlock saw Mycroft he froze and a look of betrayal came over his face. "You tricked me." He looked to John, hurt. "Why is he here?"

John shook his head, "Tricked you? I have not tricked you, good grief. Just trust me, would you?" John moved them closer to Mycroft, hoping Sherlock would fall in step, "Sherlock, come with me." 

Mycroft watched with interest as Sherlock fidgeted, but moved with John, scowling at the ground. His dressing gown was drawn tight, wearing it as though it were a defense.

"Hello, Sherlock, Dr. Watson." Mycroft smiled as they walked.

"Piss off, Mycroft."

John nodded to Mycroft. "Mr. Holmes. Sherlock's making progress, I'm glad you could join us for our evening walk." He kept between them for Sherlock's benefit, making sure they all kept walking so that Sherlock had something constructive to do as a distraction. 

"Mycroft, please. Sherlock, I am glad to hear of progress, how are you feeling?" Mycroft asked as he watched Sherlock.

"Piss off. You don't care, you have never cared. You left me, now you just like to meddle to feel important!" Sherlock snarled as he turned on Mycroft, teeth bared. John between them was the only thing preventing Sherlock from attacking.

The look of surprise, and hurt, was schooled away a moment after it appeared. "Sherlock. I assure you, I did not leave you. I went to University. I know it was hard on you, but I did not have a choice."

John tapped the side of Sherlock's leg with the base of his cane very gently and resumed walking as though the spat had not occurred. "Sherlock tells me you taught him to play chess. I've you to blame then for my loss this morning," John said with a gentle smile in Mycroft's direction. 

Sherlock scowled at John and shoved his hands in his dressing gown as Mycroft spoke. "We spent many hours in the library studying chess. I did not merely teach him. He was a competitor until his late teens."

"I don't want to talk about that." Sherlock muttered. His voice changed as he spoke "How disappointing, Sherlock. Something else you've given up, Sherlock. Why can't you apply yourself like Mycroft, Sherlock?" The words were venomous.

John was glad that he'd asked Mycroft to come along. In his pocket his mobile was recording every bit of what was being said. Dr. Floyd could advise after listening to the exchange. 

"A competitor? Perhaps I should break out checkers next time to preserve my ego," John said as though there were no tension. "Doubt anyone would have much luck keeping up with chess championships while working on a dissertation. That's damn impressive all on it's own, I'm sure the family is happy to have such bright sons." 

"They're happy to have _Mycroft_. They don't care about me." Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft drew in a sharp breath and stopped. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Enough. Mummy and Father care about you very much, but it pains them both to see you like this. They ask that I take care of you because you would not allow them to take care of you. Mummy calls me every day to ask after you. Where do you think the money has come from to keep you here? This is not an NHS facility, Sherlock. For God's sake some of the doctors live here so that they are always on call."

Sherlock blinked and took a step back. "Your job is more important than I am."

John stood back, watching them argue. There was much conjecture on Sherlock's behalf, and John suspected that at the core, was Sherlock's own disappointment with himself. 

"Mycroft cleared his appointments to be here, if that makes a spot of difference. Anyhow, gents, how about we find something decent to eat? I'm sure dinner would help everyone." 

"I'm not hungry... but but all means, feed Mycroft. He likes cake." Sherlock glowered at both of them as he stood there.

Mycroft sighed, there was a tightness to his smile and a weariness around his eyes that hadn't been there earlier. "Thank you, Dr. Watson... Sherlock. What if I order from King's? Treat you and Dr. Watson?"

Sherlock looked up again, he shifted, turning the question over in his mind. "I can get the tea... and the bread and the Pad Thai? Spicy... with extra chicken and tofu?"

The corner of Mycroft's mouth quirked up. "I'll even let you order those odd little desserts you like."

As though the entire conversation had not happened, Sherlock turned to John. "Thai?"

John nodded happily, "Please," he responded, glad to see a minor truce.

Sherlock bounced on the balls of his feet and held out his hands. Mycroft rolled his eyes but handed over his mobile. After conferring with John for a moment on what he liked, Sherlock dialed a number from memory. He spent the next few minutes speaking in rapid Thai with someone on the phone before hanging up, looking triumphant.

Mycroft didn't bother to hide his smile.

"You speak Thai," John said incredulously, shaking his head and huffing a laugh. "Alright. He speaks Thai. And loves the food. Good to know," he said with a wink, carrying on talking the men in a circle around the yard. "What other skills does Doctor Holmes here possess?" 

Mycroft looked surprised. "Sherlock has not spent his time speaking various languages to avoid speaking with everyone?"

"No, brother, I have not." Sherlock replied in soft Pashto. He switched back to English. "I must admit to swearing at Doctor Watson in French."

John stared at them both as Sherlock spoke Pashto, and Mycroft understood. Just for kicks, he responded in Farsi, "I prefer to be sworn at in languages I can't understand, so it all works out in the end."

A grin lit up Sherlock's face. He responded in kind. Farsi rolled off his tongue. "This could come in handy. Why didn't you tell me? Should have seen it. Detox is making me miss things."

Mycroft chuckled. "Sherlock has an ear for languages. He picks them up with ease. It's why I wanted him to go to MI6."

"Boring."

John shook his head, "Yeah, we've got to find something not boring for you that doesn't involve back alley dealings, good grief." He looked up as a man came jogging across the courtyard, hands full of bags of Thai food. John pointed to a small table under a tree and began to head that way. "I'm starved, thank you for dinner, Mycroft."

When Sherlock smelled the food he started unpacking it. He switched back to English. "MI6 wouldn't have let me into the field for years. That would have bored me. I like helping people." There was a small shrug as he said it and Mycroft looked surprised.

"You do?" Mycroft asked, watching him as Sherlock settled their food out into three separate piles.

"Of course I do... why do you think I left all those clues so that the police could lock all those horrible dealers up?" Sherlock looked puzzled that it was a question.

John tucked into the food, listening closely. He looked up in shock when Mycroft voiced his doubt regarding Sherlock's enjoyment of helping people. It had been plain to John that it was part of his motivation.

"That doesn't surprise me," John said in an effort to vouch for Sherlock, despite only knowing him a few hours.

"Sherlock, there are many ways I can help you to help people." Mycroft started and Sherlock shook his head.

"I- you can't hand everything to me, Mycroft." Sherlock stared at the top of the picnic table. "I have to do some things on my own." He chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

Mycroft reached out and rubbed Sherlock's back for a moment. "What if I were to give you something that I need worked on? A puzzle that needs solving?"

Sherlock looked up as he took a bite and nodded his head.

"I have data that's gone missing. I am sure I know who has taken it, but if I give you the information, will you corroborate my findings? We'd be breaking and flouting rules..."

"Oh, that's not fair, tempting me like that..."

John smiled at the pair of them. "Well, that sounds like an incredible solution." He tucked back into his food, grinning to himself. This was going much better than he had intended. 

Sherlock huffed at John. "You've spent little time around us. We fight... Constantly."

"I worry, you rebel," Mycroft corrected.

John chewed around a bite, nodding at them. "What, the data can't be moved? Must you sit in the same office for such things?" He looked to Mycroft with a brow arched. 

"Some of it cannot be moved, no." Mycroft nodded to John. "But the majority, for this, Sherlock may have here, so long as I am able to secure somewhere for him to look at it..."

"Please tell me you think it's that annoying PA of yours..."

"Sherlock... You know very well it isn't." Mycroft admonished.

"He can use my flat, so long as he's complying with treatment." He looked to Sherlock to see if he'd be willing to do so. 

"Oh God, yes." Sherlock murmured around a bite. He swallowed at a disapproving look from Mycroft. "Manners, yes, yes, Brother Dear." He cleared his throat. "That would be perfect. Thank you Dr. Watson."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Thank you Dr. Watson. I'll have Sherlock's laptop with the appropriate files brought over and given to you."

John smirked at how much Sherlock was enjoying the food. It was a different side to him, and one that showed how odd it had been to see Sherlock with his eyes downcast, still and quiet. 

"I'm so full..." Sherlock had his head on the table next to his food and Mycroft let out a small scoff.

"And it's no wonder. You decimated your food." There was a smile on Mycroft face as he dared to reach out and tuck a curl away from Sherlock's face. "I spoke to Mrs. Hudson. Her rooms at Baker Street are available."

"Nanny's rooms are open?"

"Just so..."

John looked between the two, settling on Mycroft's face. Mycroft was every bit as doting as John imagined him to be in their youth. Only now he had to conceal it. While Sherlock clearly craved his affection, he was terribly guarded against it. 

He passed several pills over to Sherlock, tucking them into Sherlock's palm. 

A small smile spread over Sherlock's face and he took his pills without fuss. He hummed as he sat up. "You asked what else I can do... I can play the violin."

The look of surprise on Mycroft's face was not hidden. "Sherlock-" he tipped his head. "Would you like it?"

Sherlock looked uncomfortable. "I- it's not there anymore. I-"

"Sold it for heroin three months ago? Yes, I'm aware. A Stradivarius being sold for three hundred pounds in a shop tends to alert the police. I was able to rescue it. It is in my safe along with the other family heirlooms."

John leaned back, arms folded casually across his chest, an easy smile on his face. He nodded to them both. "Well, I'm looking forward to that. Fingers will be steady enough soon." 

For the first time since arriving at the clinic, Sherlock looked ashamed. He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes. "My labs are terrible."

"I'm aware. I've been in constant contact." Mycroft's voice was gentle.

"I didn't think- I thought I could control it."

Mycroft shook his head. "Even your mind cannot overcome the physical, Sherlock. You are going to heal. We will figure out better ways to occupy your mind, find better things to feed your addictive personality."

John exhaled slowly. This was a rehabilitative dream; involved family, active solutions, and awareness from the addict. If anyone had a chance in this, it was Sherlock. "We'll have new labs tomorrow, see how much he improves on his own. Sherlock has verbalized his reality, which is an excellent first step."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson. This is the first time we've had this much progress." Mycroft answered.

Sherlock looked up. "Will you send it?"

"I will send your practice violin." Mycroft chose his words with care, bracing for an explosion from Sherlock.

"My practice vio-" Sherlock looked thunderous for a moment but took a slow breath, nodding. "I brought that one on myself. Alright... okay."

John stood up, keen to end this on a good note. "Well, I've got to get Sherlock back to his room before the evening ends for the ward. It was a pleasure seeing you, Mycroft," he said as he extended his hand. 

Mycroft stood, shaking John's hand. "Thank you. I'll have everything sent over before it gets late. Sherlock... I'll see you soon?"

"Tomorrow evening... bring Angelo's." Sherlock looked up at Mycroft.

With a nod of his head and small smile Mycroft departed.

Sherlock gathered the leftovers up and settled them in the bag, pushing them to John. "You have a fridge. I do not."

John smiled and took up the bag. "I'll walk you to your door." 

Sherlock smiled and allowed John to walk him to his door without fuss. 

Mycroft was impressed that there were no more escape attempts. Sherlock's labs improved daily and he agreed to stay until he was cleared medically. Much of his time was spent in John's room, curled in one of the chairs with his laptop or in the gym on campus. He suffered through his sessions with Floyd in mostly a good humor. 

By the time Sherlock's stay was over, he'd gained weight and his color was improved. He stood in John's room, playing his violin, his bag packed… waiting on Mycroft's car. It had taken almost two months for everything to calm down in both Sherlock's mind and body. Mycroft brought him puzzles and Sherlock busied himself.

When the song came to an end he turned to look at John. "Thank you..."

John nodded, still in his chair as Sherlock thanked him. "It was my pleasure, Sherlock. You did the work. It's been… remarkable to watch you heal." 

It _had_ been impressive, and John had allowed himself to grow far more attached to Sherlock than he'd ever intended. It was time for him to return home now, his labs all within limits, he'd gained a half stone, and he looked much improved from the day of his admission. He smiled at Sherlock and got to his feet, leaning a bit harder on his cane than usual. Sherlock had a plan to keep himself clean, and there was no need for him to remain there. 

Sherlock looked lost for a moment. "You should come- to Baker Street I mean." He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked at John. The realization that he was going to be on his own soon was setting in and Sherlock was panicking. John was easy to talk to, comforting.

John smiled at him, "Sherlock… I've been your doctor and it's been an honor, but I'm not sure your brother would look kindly on my seeing you outside of my practice." 

Oh, that _stung_. Sherlock put his violin back in its case, snapping the buckles shut with more force than necessary. He nodded as he cleared his throat. "Mycroft, right. Thank you for your help, Dr. Watson."

John stood up, sighing. "Sherlock..." he began, watching the man with a tight pull to his chest. He shook his head and scratched at his head, what else was there to do? It would be wildly unprofessional to see Sherlock out of the clinic. "I… I will miss your company. I'm glad to see you healed, but I- the days will be..." he cleared his throat and shook his head, fishing out a card. "This is my mobile. If… if you need anything, don't hesitate." 

Sherlock closed his fingers on the card and slipped it into his pocket. "Alright..." He looked around the room and quirked the corner of his mouth up. "I'll just be going then... Don't want to keep whoever it is waiting." With a hum he snagged his bag and violin case. "Goodbye, John."

John openly laughed at that. "Oh, Sherlock. If only that were the case." He nodded to Sherlock and swept his eye over him for a final time. "Goodbye, Sherlock." 

With a lingering look around the room and one last small, tight smile for John, Sherlock was gone. He allowed himself to be bundled away to Baker Street where Mrs. Hudson was on him as soon as he was home. His belongings had been transferred to the B flat and after fussing with them all, arranging things to his liking, soon he was settled in, alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated note: For some reason, when the chapter uploaded, it reset the chapter count to ?
> 
> Sorry for any disappointment guys, chapter count is still going to be five.

John had turned in his resignation a week after Sherlock left. He found himself feeling claustrophobic in the facility, needing more stimulation than helping addicts come down. He'd picked up a small, origami crane that Sherlock had folded out of a post note, and sat down to write the letter right then.

Three weeks later, his new flat was a short term rental until he found a better space. 

Sherlock didn't speak to anyone for a month. He stayed in his flat and solved whatever Mycroft brought to him. It was only with a great deal of pleading that Mrs. Hudson convinced him to go out to do the shopping, claiming her hip was just too sore… And it was only when Mycroft refused to answer the phone that Sherlock finally fully acquiesced. Sherlock took the list of groceries and headed to the store, an unpleasant scowl on his face.

When he was finished he moved into line behind a silhouette he recognized almost immediately. John Watson stood in front of him, a basket full of scotch and apples, leaning hard on his cane. 

"You'll need a bit more than that for a balanced diet, Dr. Watson..." Sherlock's voice drawled behind him. He could feel John's card in his pocket, well worn from where he took it out frequently as he pondered calling him.

John jumped so hard he nearly dropped the basket, spinning on his heel. He looked up at Sherlock, blinking as he licked his lip. "Sherlock, Christ," he breathed, adjusting his grip. 

"Apologies. I didn't mean to startle you." Sherlock shifted his basket as he took John in. "You've moved. Curious..."

" _What_?" John asked incredulously, "how could you _possibly_ know that?" 

"Sir?" 

John turned back at the voice, shaking his head and moving forward with an apology, letting the young woman ring him up. He looked back to Sherlock, sweeping his eyes over him. "You look much better in a suit." 

Sherlock settled his basket on the counter behind John's. "Should I be insulted that you've just told me I look better in a suit when you've seen me half naked?" He smirked as he leaned, watching John. "Your Oyster card is sticking out of your pocket. You didn't have one when you lived at the center, neither would you have been allowed alcohol... There are no signs that you're taking this to someone else's home." Sherlock shrugged.

John grabbed the Oyster card and settled it deeper into his pocket. "You're sharper now, I didn't think that was possible," he answered with a grin, handing over his money. 

A small, pleased hum at the praise left Sherlock as the woman began to ring him up after giving John his change. "Not sharper. No longer addled." He caught his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "I have to take the shopping to Mrs. Hudson but would you like to get a coffee?"

John smiled at him and nodded. "Yeah… I've nothing on, a coffee would be nice." He shifted with the bag in his hands, waiting for Sherlock, keen to get off his feet. 

When he was finished, Sherlock relieved John of his bag as well, leading him out of the store. He stepped out and hailed a cab with ease, before smiling at John. "Come, let me subject you to Nanny, then we'll see about a coffee." 

Sherlock allowed John to climb in first and as they rode back to Baker Street, found himself smiling out the window.

Mrs. Hudson met them at the door and almost as soon as John was in, started fussing over him. "You sit right here and let me get you a cuppa darling. Sherlock has told me all about you, of course."

"Nanny!" Sherlock's cheeks tinged and he disappeared into her kitchen, huffing.

John smiled at Mrs. Hudson, thanking her as he sat down and closed his eyes, setting the cane to the side and exhaling slowly. "Thank you," he murmured warmly, looking around the flat. "It's very kind of you." 

"I knew I sent that boy out of the house for a reason. Hasn't left since he got home." Mrs. Hudson patted John's hand. "I'll get that cuppa." She left John to relax for a moment while she joined Sherlock in the kitchen. 

Sherlock huffed at her, having the kettle going already. "Must you meddle, Nanny?"

She smiled as she prepared tea. "Hush, dear. Put away the groceries and then join us." She prepared the tea tray and took it back out to the sitting room.

John wasn't thrilled with the idea of Sherlock keeping in the house to himself. He looked up at her as she came back in, nodding at the tea. "You're too kind, Mrs. Hudson, thank you." 

She settled into a chair nearby. "Not at all dear. The least I could do after all you did for Sherlock."

The two of them spoke for a few minutes as Sherlock rattled about in the kitchen. John smiled. “He did a lot of the work himself.”

As she spoke Sherlock came back out and sat across from John. "Don’t let John be too modest… he helped a great deal."

John sipped at his tea and looked up to Sherlock, smiling as he did so. "I'm glad to see you doing so well, truly. It’s- rare, to see such a good outcome." 

"I have you to thank for it." Sherlock answered. "I have not had that level of care before."

John shook his head. "Hate to hear that. You've deserved much better care than what you've had. Now, tell me about this lovely woman." He turned to beam at her, "His nanny. That must have been interesting," he said with a smirk. 

"Oh, you've no idea, Dr. Watson. He once grew frogs in his bathtub. Sneaked into the guest bath to take his showers. Imagine my surprise when I went to clean his room and found them." Mrs. Hudson smiled and sipped her tea.

Sherlock chuckled. "I released them at the pond!"

"Only after Redbeard tried to eat them, dear."

John settled a hand on his leg as he watched them, fingers working into the muscle. "I imagine he was quite an, ah- interesting handful," he said with a grin, "you're a brave woman, no doubt."

"He and Mycroft together." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Inseparable those two. And trouble. Always trouble."

Sherlock huffed but watched John. He chewed on his lip for a moment before speaking softly. "Could order food instead... I've got a hot water bottle upstairs."

John immediately let go of his leg, self-conscious of what he was doing. "Oh… right, yes that eh, that would be good, yeah." Much as he enjoyed Mrs. Hudson, he was keen to leave her company before she made Sherlock more uncomfortable. "Afraid I pushed it a bit too hard today."

Sherlock pushed to his feet and kissed Mrs. Hudson's cheek. "Thank you, Nanny."

She patted his cheek. "Thank you for getting the groceries, Sherlock."

He smiled to her and nodded, waiting on John. "There's a good Chinese down the street... I could order from there."

John nodded, not particularly interested in food but willing to eat if it allowed him to keep Sherlock's company. He was slow on the stairs, and leaning fully against the door jamb by the time he reached 'B.' 

Whistling low, he shook his head. "You're messy, but this is a beautiful flat."

"Oh... yes, I- no one comes over... I've not been out much." Sherlock cleared away the mess from the comfortable chair and from the table nearby. "Sit, sit, please." He hummed as he cleared out his own chair. It took him a few minutes but soon he had tea for them both and the hot water bottle for John's leg.

Sherlock sat down across from him. "I have-" He took a breath. "I've missed talking to you." he confessed. "Missed seeing you."

John pressed the heated bottle to his leg, closing his eyes. "Yeah, mate, what's on with that? Why are you hiding?"

"I- what's there to go out for?" Sherlock snapped and blinked. "John, sorry, sorry." His brow furrowed. "I don't know anyone anymore. I know dealers and users. I don't make friends easily." He cleared his throat.

John did not so much as open his eyes, letting the heat soak into his leg. "It's fine, I shouldn't have pried. I'd rather you stay put than go out and score again. Has your brother been by at least?"

"I came home and I shut myself up because I don't know what to do out there." Sherlock hummed. "Mycroft has been by at least twice a week."

John opened his eyes then, looking to Sherlock for a moment before closing his eyes again. "What do you think the rest of us do, mate? Have a walk, stop at the shops, catch a picture." 

"She won't see me anymore." Sherlock snapped his mouth shut, not having intended to tell John that much. He let out a sigh and rubbed his face. "Before I went down the rabbit hole completely... I saw a friend, a professional, from time to time." His jaw clenched.

John looked back at him, slowly shifting in his seat. "Alright, Sherlock. You're going to have to be _very_ clear with me here, yeah? What sort of professional was she?"

Sherlock clenched his hand into a fist. "Irene is a-" He shook his head. "I wanted a fix of a different sort. She won't see me anymore. I wanted pain."

John eyed Sherlock very carefully then. "So how have you been getting on without it?"

Sherlock looked around the flat. "You're looking at it. Work, a lot of it. Not leaving, not being tempted... Some, ah... pinching." He shrugged.

John exhaled slowly and nodded. "This has been an uncomfortable month for you. For whatever it's worth, I'm damn proud of you for holding out. Truly, Sherlock, well done."

"Thank you." Sherlock perked some at the praise, seeming to calm some. "I didn't call- your job... it wasn't fair for me to do that."

"Quit that one. Resigned seven days after you left. A and E for me now. Couldn't handle how dull it was there anymore."

Sherlock's head came up in surprise. "You quit..." He blinked. "I thought you'd just found a flat."

John shrugged. "I haven't settled down anywhere for long. I didn't want to stay there, it got old very fast. More suited to A and E anyhow."

Sherlock nodded. "I should call... for food." He scooped up his mobile and called to the place, ordering in Mandarin. Sherlock smiled to John as he ordered John's favorite, remembering it from his evenings with him at the center. When he finished he looked back to him. "Royal London?"

"Just so," John answered, starting at Sherlock in awe. "That's brilliant, you know. Never met a bloke who could pick up languages like that. I struggled for years with Farsi, Arabic, and Pashto."

A small bit of color rose to Sherlock's cheeks. "It's just something I can do… Polyglot." He chewed on his lower lip. "Mummy's come to see me twice. You asked about people visiting..." Sherlock twisted his hands together. "I missed this." He confessed again quietly.

John watched as Sherlock wrung his hands together. "How are things with you and your mother?" He shifted the bottle on his leg, keeping a keen eye on the atmosphere around them.

"She's good, very well. She and Father are in America for a month now." Sherlock shifted in his chair. When his mobile chimed he excused himself and looked at it, a small scowl twisting his features. He set it aside.

"Alright?" John asked, nodding to the mobile.

Sherlock looked down and rubbed the back of the neck. "It's fine, just a bit of disappointing, but not unexpected news." He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

John wanted to press, but decided against it. "Oh… I'm sorry to hear that."

"I brought it on myself. I have to be clean another five months before I'll be reconsidered." Sherlock shrugged and pinched himself without thinking about it, fingers twisting the skin of his thigh beneath his trousers. "How is your new flat?"

John decidedly did not want to talk about his living arrangements. "Considered for what?" he asked keeping his tone light.

Sherlock bit his lip for a moment. "A membership, into an exclusive club." He stared at the floor, pinching himself again.

John watched Sherlock pinch himself, immediately understanding. He leaned forward, grimacing as he set the hot water bottle aside. "Sherlock… have you considered looking for this outside of a paid arrangement?"

"I am not well equipped at..." Sherlock gestured, "people." His sentence fell flat and he looked up at John. "I looked into the club because the people are well vetted and my issues with, ah, arrogance, could be overlooked."

John stared at him for a few minutes, quietly thinking. "Arrogance," he stated without inflection, hoping Sherlock would elaborate. 

Sherlock sighed and gestured with his hands. "I've been told I don't have the right attitude to- to do this with someone outside of a setting like that. I'm arrogant, I can't keep my mouth shut..." He shrugged and folded his hands in his lap. "Irene told me I'd never make a good submissive for someone."

"That's a rather bold statement from her," John said to Sherlock, his entire tone laced with both rejection of the notion, and disapproval for the woman, "perhaps more idiotic than bold, I should say." 

With a small shrug, Sherlock laced his fingers together. "I think, perhaps, she wanted to keep my business... and then she was irritated with Mycroft for warning her off. He didn't want me involved with her any longer. She's known to use drugs if the client wants them. I don't think he trusted her to keep me clean." Sherlock admitted. 

John set his jaw and nodded. "Good on Mycroft," he said then, rubbing a finger across his lips. It had been a while, but John had seen the way Sherlock had responded to him that first morning he'd been caught trying to escape. "Did you mix this preference with drugs in the past?"

"Not often... and nothing like cocaine or heroin. I have participated on ecstasy before." Sherlock looked up to John again, answering him in an open, honest tone.

John nodded, "That's not as concerning," he agreed. It wasn't ideal, but now and again a bit of ecstasy was a nice addition, though in Sherlock’s case... "You keep pinching yourself. Are you aware of doing so?"

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. "I- not right now. Most of the time, yes. I do it on purpose if I can't get anything else."

John stared at Sherlock as he ran his finger over his lips. weighing the ethics of the situation. On the one hand, he'd not been able to get the sound of Sherlock repeating him - _Please, Dr. Watson, may I join you?_ \- out of his head. On the other, of course, was the fact that John had been Sherlock's _doctor_. There was a well known tendency for patients to fall for their caregivers. Sherlock had been hiding himself for a month, it was more than possible that Sherlock missed him simply for want of unrelated company. 

_Please, Dr. Watson_...

"Sherlock, come here," he commanded, keeping his voice soft. 

With a graceful push out of his chair, Sherlock crossed the space, kneeling in front of John without hesitation. He tucked his head against John's good leg with a small noise, his hands folded behind his back. Calm washed over him and tension bled from his shoulders. Another small sound escaped him as he struggled against being overwhelmed by it.

John looked down at Sherlock with hidden surprise, shocked at what a relief this seemed to be for him. As John slid his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls, he noted to himself how much softer it was than it looked. 

"Good man," he murmured in the same quiet, commanding tone. He took a full five minutes to graze his nails across Sherlock's scalp, occasionally working at the muscles along his hairline. 

Sherlock pressed his face against John's leg until his trembling stopped. He nuzzled John as his breath evened out, concentrating on the feeling of John's nails and fingers. After another few minutes, Sherlock was able to murmur, "Thank you."

"Sir," John corrected with a tightening of his fingers in Sherlock's curls. It was both the setting of a precedent, and an invitation to what John was proposing. "Thank you, _Sir_." 

A small whimper accompanied Sherlock's words as he leaned into the pull. "Thank you, Sir." His breathing grew quicker again and his hands tightened on his wrists at his back. Sherlock shivered against John, pressing closer.

John kept his grip the same pressure as he tipped Sherlock's head back, looking down at him. "You said you don't mix this with sex. You just need pain. Is that accurate? 'Yes sir,' or 'No sir,' is all that I want to hear." 

Sherlock opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, fighting the want to explain. He took a breath and made a small noise of discontent before answering, "No, sir."

John resumed simply stroking his fingers through Sherlock's hair then. "Alright, explain it to me." 

"Irene and I are both gay." Sherlock watched him for a moment. "I've not found anyone I trust enough to bring sex into it as well. But I am not opposed to the inclusion of it."

John tightened his grip on Sherlock's hair again, " _Sir_ ," he corrected, "you'll pay for the next one." His tone was still calm and collected, no anger to it, only promise. Sherlock could be as difficult as he liked. Clearly he'd never had a hand firm enough. 

"I'm sorry, Sir." Sherlock found himself staring at John's knee, shame flushing him. The buzzer downstairs sounded and Sherlock startled. It took him a moment to remember. "May I go and get the food, Sir?"

John hummed and trailed his fingers along Sherlock's jaw before he nodded, "Do tip him well," he reminded Sherlock, "bloke was fast."

"Yes, sir... They like me. I- er well they're the people responsible for feeding me most of the time, sir." Sherlock leaned into the touch and closed his eyes for a moment before pushing to his feet and disappearing downstairs to retrieve the food. There was a murmur of Mandarin before Sherlock came back up. He looked lost for a moment. "Where would you like to eat, sir?"

Oh, and if this wasn't _delicious_. John thought as he watched Sherlock.

John looked around the disordered flat, knowing Sherlock had to work just to clear their chairs. He hummed and patted the table beside him. "Set it here," he gestured without changing the calm, commanding tone, "and return to where you were." 

Sherlock placed the bag on the table before settling back onto his knees in front of John. "Thank you, Sir." He murmured as he looked up to him. 

John stroked his fingers through Sherlock's hair and looked down at him for a full minute before speaking, the smell of the food drifting through the air. 

"I've harbored inappropriate feelings for you since the moment I caught you scaling the wall. I'd very much like to fill this role for you, Sherlock. However, I cannot do that without the very real probability of attachment, this cannot be a business transaction for me, as it were. Before we consider this road, I need to hear that you are amenable."

A small laugh bubbled up from Sherlock and he could not help himself, despite the trouble he might find himself in for it. He moved up, pressing his lips to John's for a moment before whispering against them. "And I have harbored inappropriate feelings for you since you made me ask to come to your room, sir."

John caught him, pulling Sherlock into a slow, warm kiss. He kept Sherlock close to him for a few moments, one hand in the hair at the base of Sherlock's head. When he broke away, he patted his good leg and said to Sherlock, "Rest your head patiently." 

Sherlock sank back down to his knees again. He laid his head against John's leg with a small smile on his face. "Thank you, sir." His hand curled in the hem of John's jeans as he rested quiet and settled.

John nodded as he tucked into his food with the plastic fork provided. He ate at his leisure, finishing off his meal before looking back to Sherlock.

Testing the waters, John got a bit of Sherlock's meal on the fork and offered it to him.

Sherlock leaned in, taking the bite carefully, cataloging the new experience. When he was finished with the bite he looked up to John. "Thank you, sir."

John hummed and offered Sherlock another bite. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he did.

The way Sherlock nearly melted at the attention made it painfully obvious he'd never been cared for this way. He leaned into the touches as he ate.

John carried on exactly as they had been for the next half hour, taking his time, bite to bite. When the food was gone, John tipped Sherlock's head back, speaking softly.

"I'm not interested in leaving tonight. Are you agreeable to a guest?"

"Yes sir." _Please don't leave_. He gazed up at John. Sherlock's fingers played in John's hem on his jeans still, taking comfort in the further connection.

John hummed and nodded at Sherlock. "Good, that's good." He glanced around the room and then spoke softly, "is your bedroom the same?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, sir." 

John nodded. “I’m glad to hear it." Slowly he leaned forward and began to pick open the buttons of Sherlock's shirt.

As the shirt revealed his chest, the sparse sprinkling of hair, Sherlock’s breathing hitched. He watched John's hands before studying his face. Sherlock bit his lower lip, concentrating on John.

John leaned down to reach the lower buttons, turning Sherlock's head with the hand in his hair, he was able to graze his teeth over Sherlock's neck as he pulled the fabric sorely open.

Sherlock gasped, a shudder running through him. "Sir..." A low whimper left Sherlock and he clamped his hands on his thighs to keep from touching John. 

John bit gently along the line of Sherlock's shoulder as he eased his shirt off. The sleeves caught at Sherlock's wrists, and John allowed the material to hang there.

"Where is your room?"

"I-" Sherlock whimpered. "Just down the hall, sir." He was trembling as he looked at John, torn between begging and shrugging out of his shirt so he could wrap his arms around John to kiss him.

John hummed and kissed a trail down Sherlock's neck as he leaned in and wrapped his hand in the material slung across Sherlock's back, drawing up a mark as he twisted, drawing Sherlock's hands back behind his back.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir." Sherlock moaned as he tried to press closer. "Please." He whimpered. "Please, sir."

John stood up slowly, keeping the weight off his bad leg, bringing up Sherlock with him. He let Sherlock go and headed down the hall, stopping when he found the clean bedroom, heading over to the bed as though he owned it.

There was no hesitation in Sherlock's step as he followed John into the pristine room, his sanctuary. He paused at the foot of the bed, waiting instruction. His lower lip was caught between his teeth and he worried it.

John pointed to the space directly in front of him. "Come here, Sherlock," he said calmly, shifting his own weight to the very edge of the bed. His cane resting to his side, with his feet firmly planted on the floor. 

Sherlock moved to the spot in front of John. "Should I kneel, sir?" He chewed on his lower lip again, nervous, but trusting John.

John shook his head, "No, stand just here." 

"Yes, sir." Sherlock folded his hands behind his back and stood in front of John. He watched John, his curiosity nearly overwhelming him. John interested him like almost no one else ever had.

John took his time, reaching up and sliding one warm, dry open hand along Sherlock's flank, skilled fingertips tracing along the bone structure where it met the musculature. He was taking Sherlock in as one would a marble statue, slow and deliberate, appreciating each centimeter he moved with the same careful attention as the last. He became particularly transfixed on Sherlock's iliac crest, his thumb dipping at the front as his fingers wrapped around Sherlock's back. All the while, he never spoke. 

As John explored him, Sherlock's breath caught now and again. He didn't make a sound beyond that, unsure if he were allowed to. Still he watched John, fascinated with the feel of John's fingers on his skin. It was effort to keep his breathing regular, to keep himself for begging John to do more... Somehow Sherlock knew John would not be provoked into punishment, that anything like that might very well find him sleeping on his own sofa for the night, or worse.

Pleased with Sherlock's compliance, John looped his fingers in the waistband of Sherlock's trousers as he dropped a pillow to the floor, keenly aware of the loose material still caught at Sherlock's wrists. He began to tug downward. "Kneel there," he instructed, "I want you comfortable. Is this a comfortable position for you?" 

Sherlock knelt on the pillow and looked up at John. "Yes, sir." He settled in, sitting on his feet. His head dipped before he pulled himself back, barely keeping himself from nuzzling John's thigh. 

John nodded, able to identify the restraint Sherlock possessed from at least a small measure of proper training. Again he took up the painstakingly slow process of exploring Sherlock's body. He traced the underside of Sherlock's pectorals, slid a finger along Sherlock's sternum, and ghosted the pads of his thumbs over the dusky skin of Sherlock's nipples. He took his time along Sherlock's collar bones, the anatomical structures superimposing themselves over the bones from years and years of study. He trailed up along the sides of Sherlock's neck, giving him a bit of an exam as he felt along the lymphatic system there. 

The gentleness of his exploration was part of the torment. John was a patient man... An extremely patient man. He was well aware of Sherlock's desire for sharp edges and shocks of pain, there was no mystery in that. 

His fingers traced along the underside of Sherlock's jaw before he let the pads of his thumbs slide gently over Sherlock's ears, finally speaking to him. "You're a danger to yourself. I'm unlikely to keep the terms of our relationship behind closed doors." He watched Sherlock carefully to see what reaction he might have to that. 

Sherlock looked up, meeting John's eyes. His eyes blinked rapidly as he turned this over in his mind. A range of emotions flashed across his face before it settled on one of surprise and Sherlock spoke before he could stop himself. "You would- you would claim me? In public? Acknowledge that I am yours? You would _want_ people to know I'm yours?" He couldn't help it. Sherlock stared at John before hurriedly adding, "Sir."

John carried on tracing the structures of Sherlock's face as Sherlock responded to him. He'd not particularly been expecting that sort of response, and needed to clarify swiftly. 

"As a first note, _yes_ , I would absolutely need for you to be exclusive with me. In public, I would behave with you as any other couple in a relationship would behave." His thumb brushed along Sherlock's lower lip, "More to what I mean, though, is that some measure of control would exist outside of these doors. I am talking about your eating and sleeping habits, for starters, among other things. Nothing publicly degrading." 

He drew his hands away when he'd explored Sherlock's face to his content for the moment. "I do not do 'scenes' and then pop away. Are you agreeable?" 

Tears stung Sherlock's eyes unbidden and he found himself leaning toward John, desperate for his hands again. "Yes, sir. Please." His voice shook as he answered, surprised at the ferocity with which he answered John. He blinked back the tears. "Thank you, sir."

John took note of Sherlock's reaction, noting the tears Sherlock was holding back, the restraint he was showing. He'd not been expecting anything so visceral from him, but it was just was well that John know exactly what he was dealing with. He could understand that level of alone, the way it ate at you until you were unaware of the pain at all up to the moment it was relieved. 

"You've yet to have reason to thank me," he answered calmly, sliding his fingers into Sherlock's hair and easing him forward to rest his head against John's thigh. "Take a moment," he whispered, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair, "lace your fingers behind your back and take a moment."

Sherlock pressed his face to John's thigh as he laced his fingers together. A small sob escaped him. His breathing hitched for a minute as he tried to get himself back under control. He nuzzled John, rubbing his face there. After a couple of minutes he was able to control his breathing again and stop sniffling.

John carried on carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair until he seemed to master himself again. "Up on your feet," he said calmly, letting Sherlock go and leaning back a bit so that he'd be able to do so. 

With a bit of maneuvering, Sherlock got to his feet and stood in front of John. A shiver ran through him. "You have no idea how very badly I want to kiss you, sir."

John hummed in response, shifting so that he could get to his own feet. He stood in front of Sherlock, behaving for all the world as though there was no issue of height, and began to disrobe Sherlock fully. He worked open the button of his trousers and lowering them. "Out of your pants," he instructed as he stepped back and began to do the same with himself, "into your bed when you've done so." 

Sherlock worked himself out of his shoes and socks, stepping out of his trousers and then shucking his pants as well. He licked over his lips as he climbed into bed and curled up on his side, watching John. His fingers itched to explore every inch of John, his tongue to taste him... He wanted to know what made John tick, what made him arch and moan and scream. Sherlock wanted to know how best to serve him. They’d shared so much already, John sharing far more than he should have in a strictly professional relationship...

John came to bed in nothing but his trousers, sitting up with his back against the headboard, his belt draped over the post at his side within arm's reach. He trailed his fingers down Sherlock's side, thinking back to the day he'd met him, shaking with want of chemicals that would ultimately kill him. 

He patted his good thigh, speaking softly to him, "Rest your head here."

Moving gently in the bed, Sherlock let his head rest upon John's thigh and sighed. He nuzzled against him and pressed a gentle kiss there before settling in fully. His eyes closed as he relaxed. The warmth was encompassing and left him feeling better than he had in months.

John started at his neck, slowly working his fingers into Sherlock's muscles. He did not speak over the next half hour as he worked along Sherlock's shoulders and upper back. John moved Sherlock's arms when he wanted to get to the areas under the scapula, and pushed at his hip to turn him so that he could work down the lines parallel his spine. 

Sherlock had been asking for pain, but John strongly suspected the reason for that, at present, was because kindness seemed far too much to seek out. Despite Sherlock's nudity, there was hardly any undertone of sex involved. 

The bit of trouser under Sherlock's face was soaked. He'd been crying steadily for ten minutes. As the stress released, he couldn't help it. His breathing hitched now and again, but he did not make a sound otherwise. Sherlock was caught in a soft haze, body almost floating on the kindness, very nearly overwhelmed.

"There's a good man," John said very softly as he began to draw Sherlock up closer to him, covering them both with a blanket. He settled Sherlock's head over his heart, grazing his nails gently over Sherlock's back as he covered Sherlock's ear with his palm and began to work the pads of his fingers along the thin lines of muscle just behind it, careful not to pull his hair. "Not alone tonight, it's safe." 

Sherlock concentrated on John's heartbeat. He was boneless against John as he nuzzled, eyes closed. "Thank you, sir." He whispered as they rested there together. "Thank you."

John hummed quietly as he carried on rubbing Sherlock's back, softly carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He'd not had any intention of doing so, but after a while of such warm calm surrounding them, John's hands slowly stilled and his breathing evened out, succumbing to sleep without realizing it. 

With John still and asleep, Sherlock wound up falling asleep against him. His arm wrapped around John's waist, anchoring himself to John. The warmth and reassuring beat of John's heart kept Sherlock down and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find us over on tumblr at [amphigoricsymphony.tumblr.com](http://amphigoricsymphony.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice any glaring errors, please drop me a message. We wrote most of this one on our phones and I've tried to catch everything but...
> 
> -Symphony

It was just after dawn when John woke. He looked down to find a nude Sherlock Holmes wrapped around him under the blankets. He shifted to take pressure off his leg, while wrapping a hand loosely around the back of Sherlock's neck.

Arching his neck into the touch, Sherlock opened his eyes, yawning as he did. He blinked in surprise before smiling as the night came back. Sherlock pressed a small kiss to John's chest.

"Morning," John murmured to Sherlock, squeezing at the back of Sherlock's neck, "are you rested?"

Sherlock nuzzled him. "I am, sir. How are you?" He looked up at John with a smile.

John hummed at him, brushing the curls out of Sherlock's face. He had not slept so well in ages, despite being half clothed and partially sitting.

"How are you at cooking?" John asked with a slight smile.

A small hum left Sherlock. "I am alright. I even have groceries." He leaned into the touch. "Eggs and toast and beans?"

John gave Sherlock a gentle nod, "Sounds good, if you've any fruit, add it to your plate. I'm going to shower. Do not eat without me."

Sherlock nodded and crawled out of bed. "Yes, sir." He moved to the kitchen and started prep work. He fried a couple eggs and scrambled a couple others, flitting around the kitchen for John.

John took his time in the shower, working the knots out along the spiderweb of scar tissue running down from the pitted hole where a bullet had shredded the muscle away. He and Sherlock were going to have to return to his flat, he had none of his medication and had been saved only by his brace.

By the time he was out into the kitchen, he'd gotten the worst of the pain managed, though he immediately settled in a chair, sliding his leg forward under the table. "Smells wonderful," he said with a smile.

With a small flourish, Sherlock settled a plate in front of John. "Feeling better, sir?" He stood beside John. "May I sit?"

As he took a bite of eggs, John nodded, "Yes, please sit, eat." He pointed to the seat across from him giving Sherlock another smile.

The food smelled wonderful and Sherlock murmured a soft 'thank you, sir.' He tucked into his food and ate, finding his appetite was better than it had been in months. "I like you being here." He admitted, voice soft.

John hummed and smiled at Sherlock. "I am glad to be back with you as well." He was eating, but his hand was beginning to shake and he was struggling to keep his stomach calm as his leg throbbed.

Sherlock watched John. "What do you need?" He asked softly. "You're in pain..."

John hummed and set his fork down. "I left my medication at home, didn't anticipate the night going so well."

"We should remedy that, sir." Sherlock answered. "You shouldn't be in pain for this. We'll go as soon as you wish."

"Eat that and we'll go. Cab, I can't manage the tube right now." He drank a bit of his tea as he waited for Sherlock to finish his plate.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes sir." He set into his breakfast, eating everything on his plate for John. With one last swallow of tea he cleared the dishes away before disappearing to the bedroom to dress. When he came back out he smoothed his shirt down and looked at John, a small smile on his lips.

John smiled up at Sherlock before taking hold of the cane, features tightening as he pushed himself up. He looked to Sherlock with a nod, breathing tight, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Might want to grab a few things for the night, don't know if I'll be making it back this way."

Sherlock paused for a moment before disappearing. He came back bearing a small bag with a few things. He made sure everything was off and nodded to John. "Ready, sir."

John was done in by the time he settled in the cab, grabbing hard at his thigh and closing his eyes as he gave the address.

Long fingers brushed over John's as Sherlock sought to comfort him. His warm hand rested on John's thigh, attempting to help.

John did not speak for the duration of the trip. He lived across London in the cheaper districts, and his less than ideal flat was a good ride.

The flat was grey and impersonal. He led Sherlock in, leaning so hard on his cane his arm shook. "Come with me," he said in a tight, strained voice, leading Sherlock to the bedroom. He tossed back a handful of pills and fell back on the bed with his eyes closed, patting the mattress beside him.

Sherlock crawled onto the bed beside John and nuzzled his shoulder. He chewed on his bottom lip as he looked up at him. "Is there anything I can do?" He murmured softly

John hummed and shook his head. "Just need twenty minutes. I'm sorry you have to see this, stupid of me."

"No need to apologize. I am sorry you are going through it." Sherlock curled up against John and wrapped his arm around him. He pressed his face to John with a contented sigh, his eyes closing.

John was quiet until the pain began the ebb. He began to shift and soon was pulling Sherlock to rest better I'm his arms.

"Your flat is much nicer, I'm sorry to have pulled you here. Normally I keep my meds with me. I was just going to pop by the store and then get pissed."

Sherlock kissed John's jaw. "No reason to apologize. I am with you." He answered, tone open, honest. "That is all that matters to me right now."

John hummed happily and nodded. "You are, aren't you? Don't take this the wrong way, yeah? But, why?"

"You treat me like a person, like an adult... You're handsome, strong, firm. I felt we grew very close despite the confines of where we met. Nothing inappropriate happened, you never led me on or helped yourself to me even when I made innuendo I was sure you picked up on... You kept your professional front even when I could read this in you." Sherlock shrugged. "You are you, John. I am very fond of you."

John smiled at that, humming to himself. "You flatter me," he whispered, sliding his fingers through Sherlock's hair. The pain in his leg was finally subsiding, allowing the tension in his body to ease. "Come here," he instructed, pulling Sherlock into a slow, relaxed kiss.

The kiss caught Sherlock off guard, pulling a low moan from him. He kissed John back as he pressed close. His eyes closed as his hand ran down John's side.

John shifted so that he could push Sherlock to his back, edging up on one elbow and kissing him for a full minute, nipping at Sherlock's lower lip.

He pulled away and looked Sherlock over, taking hold of Sherlock's wrist. "Now, I believe we were interrupted."

Sherlock took in a sharp breath, a shiver running through him. "Yes, sir." He bit his lower lip. "Please."

John gave him a small hum of approval as he tightened his grip on Sherlock's wrist, leaning down and whispering against Sherlock's lip. "I'm looking forward to that attitude of yours," he purred before biting him harsh enough to sting, moments later sliding his tongue over the burn. 

There was a low, whimpering moan from Sherlock before he nipped at John's tongue, teeth scraping over it lightly. He crowded John, dipping his head to nip at John's jaw. 

John drew back and with his free hand struck Sherlock across the face, fingers splayed, the sound snapping through the room. It was enough to sting sharply, pink lines raising up, but in a few minutes no mark would be there. "You will remain still," he instructed calmly, as though he'd not just struck Sherlock, reaching down and lightly rolling Sherlock's nipple through his shirt," am I understood?" 

Sherlock swallowed hard, looking away from John. He shivered at the touch as his face stung. "Y-yes, sir." He stared at the bed, tears pricking at his eyes. It had never bothered him before to have someone correct him... but John was different.

John leaned down and kissed him slowly, keeping one hand on Sherlock's wrist, the other moving over to pick open the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. He moved over to the stinging side of Sherlock's face as he began to pull the tails of Sherlock's shirt free, speaking softly between kisses with an obvious smile to his voice. "Do not, however… alter… your… enthusiasm..." he smiled down at Sherlock and resumed kissing him, sliding his hand up under Sherlock's shirt to feel his bare skin. 

Sherlock moaned into the kiss as he kissed John back. His hands trembled, aching to touch John, but not wanting to upset him. He whimpered into the kiss. "Sir, please." John was nearly too much in some ways. Sherlock had never been taken care of, teased, not like this. A shiver ran through him and he curled his fingers into the fabric.

John smiled against Sherlock's lips, kissing him with a bit more force, though intentionally setting his own pace. Sherlock's eager response was delightful. He trailed his fingers along Sherlock's chest, tweaking one nipple gently as he bit hard at Sherlock's lower lip, before moving on, rolling his hips down against Sherlock before very gently kissing Sherlock as he pinched down hard on the other nipple. 

"You are perfect," he purred happily against Sherlock, not at all phased with Sherlock's issues with self-control. 

A small cry was wrung from Sherlock at the pinch. He arched up against John and whimpered. Before he could help himself he reached up and wrapped his arms around John, clinging to him. "John. Sir... please!"

John clicked his tongue and shook his head, pushing up off Sherlock and sitting up. He pointed to the floor in front of him. "Come stand here, Sherlock."

Sherlock whimpered but moved to where John indicated. He squirmed, "Please, I'm sorry..." His head was bowed as he stood there.

In the same calm tone John had always used, he instructed, "Strip down. Hand me your belt." 

"Yes, sir." Sherlock stripped out of his clothing for John, movements sensual. He folded his clothing to the side and held out his belt with a slightly shaking hand.

As he ran his middle finger down the center of Sherlock's wrist, John took the belt. He reached over and put a pillow over his lap, scooting back so that the bed would take most of Sherlock's weight. Still holding on to Sherlock's wrist, he pulled him down slowly. John folded Sherlock over his lap, resting the very tips of the wings of Sherlock's hips over the edge of the pillow and stretching his torso over his lap. "Give me your other wrist," he instructed, holding his hand open for it as he held the belt doubled in the other. 

Sherlock stretched up, giving John his other hand. "Yes, Sir." He settled in against John, careful of his leg. He apologized again as he pressed his face to the bed, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are, or this would be going very differently," John answered in a calm, steady voice as he rubbed Sherlock's arse. "You've something beautiful in you, it's rough and unrefined just now and there is beauty in that all on its own, but I'm going to hone it, show you how high you can go."

He tightened his hold on Sherlock's wrists, "count," he instructed, just before delivering a mild blow to the tops of Sherlock's thighs.

"One, sir!" Sherlock cried, the blow startling him even though it was not harsh. He whimpered, tucking his face against the bed again. "Please, sir. I want to be what you need."

John hummed before setting another blow of equal pressure, a bit higher. "Oh, you're already what I need," he said with a smile, relishing the sound of the snap. 

A low whine preceded Sherlock's count of, "Two, sir." He twisted in John's grip for a moment before stilling again. "Sorry, sorry, I keep trying to touch you, sir." Sherlock closed his eyes.

John demonstrated the strength of his hands as Sherlock twisted his own, landing a harsher third. "Mmm, and what would you do were you allowed such a privilege," he asked, sliding his hand over the raising welt he'd put down to show that he would be much firmer if necessary. 

Sherlock gasped, "Three, sir... I just want to touch you, to kiss you... I-" He whimpered, shivering as John touched the welt. "I haven't- this is new, unusual in this context." 

John eased his grip as Sherlock complied, stroking his thumb along the bones of Sherlock's wrist. He draped the belt over Sherlock's lower back so that he would remember it was within easy reach as he trailed his fingers over the heated swell of Sherlock's arse. "Yes, I know it is. You're doing fine, Sherlock," he assured as he slid his fingers around Sherlock's hip, trailing the pads of his fingertips over the side of Sherlock's cock, down and then back up, before tracing his flank. 

"Thank you, sir." Sherlock moaned at the tease and fought to keep still. "I only want to make you happy." He shivered under John's touches. "Please, sir."

John smiled at Sherlock and released his wrists. He took the belt with a whispered, "Trust me," before he slowly looped it around Sherlock's neck. He slipped the end through the buckle and then tightened it just to where it would fit as a collar, not at all restricting his ability to breathe or swallow, keeping hold of the tail as a leash. "Come on then, Sherlock. You've been very good, you may touch," he murmured with a calm smile, the grip on the leash more than enough to remind Sherlock that John was still in control of the situation. 

Sherlock sat up and looked at John. His fingers trailed over John's face first, studying him, taking him in. He let his hands move down, tenderly brushing over John's chest. "I missed you.. I wanted to call. I must have dialed your number a hundred times." Sherlock whispered. His fingers dipped under John's shirt.

John leaned back slightly to give Sherlock access to him, curious at his movements, watching as the confidence and snark disappeared, leaving Sherlock almost timid. He gave him a smile, speaking softly, "I was disappointed you never rang. I had hoped you would." 

Sherlock worked the buttons on John's shirt, gaining confidence as John watched him. He leaned in and nuzzled along John's neck, taking in how he smelled. His tongue darted out to taste John. "I was afraid you didn't want me." Sherlock confessed.

John angled his head with a pleased sigh as he spoke softly to Sherlock, "Glad we've corrected that misunderstanding." He pulled lightly at the belt, wanting him closer. He was going to have Sherlock do most of the work for now, not keen on irritating his leg. 

Sherlock worked John's shirt off of him before straddling his lap, careful to keep his weight off John's bad leg. He kissed down to John's shoulder and bit. It was light pressure, his tongue laving over the trapped skin. Sherlock rolled his hips as he kissed along John's jaw before kissing him.

John pulled down at the leash, holding Sherlock in the kiss as he slid his free hand down over Sherlock's arse, dipping his fingers deep and tracing along until he found the core of him. He bit at Sherlock's lip, circling him with the pad of his finger, rolling his hips up. "I want you just like this," John said against Sherlock's lips, suddenly pulling at the belt to angle Sherlock's head to the side, biting at his neck before drawing up a welt and laving over the mark he'd put there. 

"Oh god..." Sherlock's hips bucked at the bite to his neck, a low, rough groan escaping him. "Fuck, sir, please!" He gasped softly, body shivering. "Please..."

"Oil in the nightstand," he answered voice rough. "Condoms too." He let up enough on the leash so that Sherlock could grab them both, though he could not help rolling his hips up against Sherlock. They were moving faster than he'd planned, but at the moment he couldn't be arsed. Not with Sherlock making those noises. 

Sherlock whined, grinding down against John, head tipped back, a view of what he would look like riding John as he tried to get control of himself again. He shivered and leaned carefully, fishing out the oil and the condoms. He barely had the presence of mind to check that the condoms were safe to use with oil, but was satisfied when they were. Sherlock settled himself back in John's lap with the items in hand. "John..." his voice was rough as he pressed his forehead to John's.

John set the condoms aside and leaned in to graze his teeth along Sherlock's throat as he slicked his fingers. In the next second, he was biting down hard at the join of Sherlock's neck and shoulder as he wrapped his wet, heated hand around Sherlock's cock and began to stroke him, mimicking Sherlock by whispering his name in the same rough tone. 

The bite had Sherlock jerking and crying out in pleasure. John's hand around his cock drew a rough, low moan from Sherlock as he rocked his hips up. "Oh god... John, sir!" He gasped as he ran his hands down John's chest, trying to get to his trousers and get them open. "Yours… _yours_."

John moved his hand fast and with purpose, hardly giving Sherlock a moment to breathe as he bit along Sherlock's collarbone, keeping pricks of pain going as he gave what he knew to be too much stimulation at once, abruptly stopping when he had Sherlock leaking in his hand. He pulled at Sherlock's leash, his voice utterly steady as he instructed, "Up on your knees, forehead on my shoulder. You're not to move unless instructed." 

Sherlock trembled as he did as instructed. He pressed his forehead to John's shoulder, eyes closed. His voice was rough as he murmured in French. Sherlock was shivering against John, fighting to stay still.

John bit gently at the lobe of Sherlock's ear as his fingers found his core once again. For a full minute, all he did was circle him with a slick finger, at times pressing as though he'd dip in, always backing away at the last moment. His free hand was wrapped across Sherlock's back, managing to hold the tail of the leash to keep control of Sherlock's head. He smiled at the murmured French, licking at the shell of his ear as he finally pressed a single fingertip into him at the slowest possible pace. 

"Oh god..." Sherlock whined. It was obvious there was a struggle not to press down against John. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to breathe. "Jean, s'il vous plaît, monsieur." He whimpered against John, body trembling.

John chuckled as he continued to press his finger in, keeping at the same slow pace until he was to the webbing. When he was fully seated, he bit down hard at Sherlock's shoulder, turning his finger and flicking his finger over the swollen bud of nerves there before going completely still. 

"Would you like more?" 

Sherlock panted against John's shoulder. "Please, _please_ , sir." He trembled. "I need it, John, sir, please. I need you."

John drew out slowly, sure to brush over the same bundle again, enjoying teasing Sherlock as he slowed their pace. He added a second finger, moving just as slow as he had with the first, showing him no mercy. When he reached the cluster of nerves again, he allowed one finger to circle around it as the second slipped past, sucking up marks along Sherlock's shoulder as he did so, moving up along his neck. 

The attention John gave him had Sherlock shaking against him. He was a whimpering mess against John at the slide of fingers in him. "Oh god, yes... John, John, sir. I c-can't."

"Oh yes, you can," John said with just the barest hint of warning. Without drawing away the first two fingers, he began to slowly scissor them, brushing over the bundle of nerves, working the muscle until he could easily add a third. He took a few minutes to work his fingers within Sherlock, wanting him just on the edge of orgasm before he took him. 

Finally he withdrew and leaned back, bracing one hand on the bed, keeping the other gripping Sherlock's leash. "I want you on me," he growled, the calm gone from his voice, "don't forget the condom." 

Sherlock made a choked, sobbing sound when John withdrew his fingers. He made short work of getting John out of his trousers even as his hands shook. It took him a moment to get a condom loose from the packaging. He groaned as he rolled the condom on John, taking a moment to stroke him. Sherlock watched John as he positioned himself over him before starting to slowly press himself down.

John leaned back and looked at Sherlock, taking in the sight of him. "Well… fuck," he said with a lustful grin. He smacked the side of Sherlock's arse as he bucked up against him, scratching his nails over the welt he'd put there earlier. 

A wicked smirk settled on Sherlock's face as he moaned. He rolled his hips, regaining more of the cocky confidence and attitude he normally carried. "John... you're gorgeous." He murmured. "Please, sir."

John pulled Sherlock down by the leash for a deep, hungry kiss. "Let's see you work, then," he growled against Sherlock's lips in response to his cocky behavior, thrusting up into him once before raking his nails down Sherlock's back. 

Sherlock nipped at John's lower lip before kissing him again. He moaned as he arched into the nails. His hips shifted as Sherlock started to move. "John, fuck..." He groaned as he picked up his pace, hips rolling as he rose and fell on John's cock. 

John pulled down on the tail of the belt as he reached up with the opposite hand and plunged his hand into Sherlock's curls at the back of his head, curling his fingers and pulling tight, forcing Sherlock's head back a bit. He was working up with Sherlock's rhythm, bringing their chests together as he leaned in and bit Sherlock's neck. 

Sherlock cried out in pleasure at the bite, rocking down against John roughly. "Fuck... _fuck_." He shuddered on John. "Hurt me, John, please, please, sir. More..." He panted as he worked against John, gasping with each thrust.

John pulled viciously at Sherlock's hair as he let go of the belt, drawing his hand back and splaying his fingers before he let fly a blistering smack to Sherlock's arse, right over the welt, keeping their pace even if Sherlock faltered. He sank his teeth into Sherlock's shoulder as he raked his nails over the heated skin he'd just raised up. 

There was a sharp cry from Sherlock as he jerked. A shudder ran through him and he sped up. "John!" He cried out as he moved, harsher with his movements. "Please, please, I want to come, Sir, please." The burn of the strikes were perfect and Sherlock gasped at the teeth in his shoulder.

"Oh, God, yes," John growled by way of permission, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's hips as he continued pulling Sherlock's hair, bucking up into him with abandon, "don't be shy about it." He bit at Sherlock's throat again, absolutely loving the way Sherlock sounded.

The bite was the final straw and Sherlock's hips bucked as he cried out. The friction between them was perfect as he came hard, body shuddering. He whimpered and moaned as he pressed against John. 

John swore loudly as Sherlock's body tightened around his own, ripping him right over the edge. He clutched Sherlock to him, rocking his hips up in a stuttered rhythm as he came hard enough to see stars, panting against Sherlock's chest as wave after wave came crashing over him.

Sherlock pressed his face against John, whimpering softly. "Yours." He trembled against John as he struggled to catch his breath.

John eased them to their sides, taking the pressure off his bad leg, keeping Sherlock close to his chest. "Mine," he agreed with a breathless smile, rubbing Sherlock's back gently and brushing his hair away from his face. He gave him a slow, gentle kiss, pulling the blankets up over them, "decidedly mine." 

Tears stung Sherlock's eyes and he closed his eyes as they escaped, tucking his face against John. He wrapped his arm around John's waist, holding himself close. 

John hissed gently through his teeth. "Ah, that sort. It's alright, Sherlock, there's a good man," he said with no trace of mockery or disappointment. John nuzzled down against him, carding one hand through Sherlock's hair as the other gently rubbed his back, keeping the blankets tucked close, "all's well, all's well." He leaned back just enough to get the belt free of Sherlock's neck before bringing him back up for another slow, gentle kiss. 

Sherlock clung to John as he kissed back, hand splayed against John's back. When they parted, he whispered against John. "I've not- not had someone care." He nuzzled John's jaw.

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, letting that sink in. "Well… fuck. That's ruddy awful," he whispered truthfully, pulling Sherlock back against his chest and slowly rubbing his back. He was quiet with him, hooking a leg over Sherlock's knee to keep him in close. "Well, you do now. Those days are behind you."

"It's always been transactions or... or just- just a quick thing. Not staying like this." Sherlock murmured. He pressed his forehead to John's. "Thank you. This is perfect."

John huffed a gentle laugh. "I'm not doing you a _favor_ , Sherlock. I _want_ you here. You've no need to thank me, this is a selfish endeavor I assure you. That's not to say that I don't deeply care for how you feel or what you need, but bloody hell, I want this, want you right here." 

Sherlock smiled against John. "But I like showing my appreciation." He let out a soft hum. "I want to be right here, with you..."

John gathered Sherlock as close to himself as possible and closed his eyes. His leg was a bit unhappy with him, but it could sod off. He smiled and nuzzled down against him, wanting nothing more than to be close and rest. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, lazy and casual in his demeanor. 

Sherlock sighed happily against John. He nuzzled in against him. His body slowly relaxed against John until he was mostly boneless again. Sherlock kissed John's chest with a small yawn, pleasantly worn out despite it being fairly early in the day.

John allowed himself to doze, simply enjoying Sherlock's presence. It was new, and wonderful, and he was looking forward to exploring their relationship. Sherlock promised to be a challenge, which John simply loved, and he greatly looked forward to what lay ahead. 

Nothing was ever guaranteed, but something out there had seen fit to give them a second chance. They were going to seize it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As always, you can find us on tumblr at [AmphigoricSymphony](http://amphigoricsymphony.tumblr.com)


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